


Delilah

by sajere1



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: F/F, Pre-Relationship, Pre-Series, but theres so little ct/south i gotta do what i can, i would say it was too shitty to be posted, i wrote this in two hours and edited it for like ten minutes, ill make south connecticut a thing or cry trying, really violent sexual tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-25
Updated: 2014-07-25
Packaged: 2018-02-10 08:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2017644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sajere1/pseuds/sajere1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn’t until three weeks into her time with Project Freelancer that Constance realizes her hair isn’t standard length.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Delilah

It isn’t until three weeks into her time with Project Freelancer that Constance realizes her hair isn’t standard length.

“You’re shitting me,” York – her fellow newbie-in-arms – manages, tugging on his shoulder-length locks in disbelief. They’re still in their armor, mostly, carrying their helmets under their arms as they huff the sweat off from their recent spar. Constance has his arm guard cradled in her hand, stolen in a moment of unprofessional tomfoolery the Counselor is currently pursing his lips over. “Do you know how long this took to grow out?”

“No,” the Counselor says stiffly, eyes narrowed.

“Three years,” York persists, ignoring the snappish tone. “And you want me to just throw that away?”

“Yes.”

“For _protocol_?”

“It is in place to protect you, Agent New York.”

“This is bullshit,” York decides, casually reaching out to snatch back the tan armor piece mid-conversation. Constance easily swings it out of his reach, grinning cheekily over the Counselor’s shoulder as his scowl deepens even further. “How come it took you three weeks to tell us about this, huh?”

“There is a grace period for unintentional rule breaking,” the Counselor informs him icily, looking like he’s about to slit someone’s throat with the sharp edges of his folder. He turns his eyes on Constance and she stiffens, rigid enough that York easily snatches back his arm piece and connects it back up. “I expected better of you, Agent Connecticut.”

The ruddiness her cheeks had gained during the battle drains until she is left pale and small in the face of authority. “Sorry, sir,” she mutters belligerently. York blinks as he glances between them, and she resists the urge to jerk away from him. “I’ll cut my hair right away, sir. Tonight.”

“Good girl,” the Counselor approves, and it makes Constance want to throw something at his face. His feet are sharp against the floor as he walks off, ignoring the glare she burns into the back of his shirt.

“Douchebag,” York mutters under his breath.

“Aw, don’t let Francie get you down,” a new voice chirps, and within moments Constance feels someone’s elbow on top of her head. Her immediate instinct is to flip the chick onto her back, but she recognizes that voice – Agent South Dakota, nicknamed Cyclops for the way her eye is hidden behind her hair and, of course, her lazer beam glare. “You can still play around with it. I got to die my bangs purple.”

“Francie?” York asks, curiously. Constance resists the urge to wrestle the girl’s arm off her head.

“Counselor’s first name is Francis,” South Dakota grins. “The guy hates it when you call him that. I try to do it twice a day.”

“Could you please get off me?” Constance finally demands, swatting at the elbow digging into her scalp. York and South both turn to stare at her.

“I didn’t even know you talked,” South blinks, sounding mildly impressed. It soon fades into a casual smirk. “Connecticut, right? Sorry, you make a majorly good arm rest. Not my fault you’re, like, three feet tall.”

Constance bats the hand away, whirling around to glare at the…actually astoundingly tall girl who is watching her with a condescending smirk. Constance’s eyes narrow, lip curling. “Getting pissy, CT?” South hums, eyebrows rising. “What are you gonna do about it? Cut your hair?”

“Yeah, actually,” Constance snaps, “I am.”

South sniggers. “Following orders. Very rebellious,” she mocks. “I’d go for a bob, if I were you. It’d make your cheeks look cute.” South pats her own jaw condescendingly and just like that Constance’s face is burning again, subservience slipping out through her fists as her nails dig into her palms. South directs her attention away, clearly done with the conversation. “Hey, newbie, you just gonna stare?”

“Huh?” York manages, startled – and then, “Oh, no, we’re just leaving.” He bumps Constance’s shoulder and mutters, “Come on, let’s go,” into her ear before turning and heading out. Constance manages one last glare before she turns and marches off, head held high.

“You shouldn’t let her get to you,” York tells her in the locker room, still glancing over his shoulder like he’s afraid South followed them in. “She’s just trying to get a rise out of you. Just move on.”

Constance grunts to let him know he heard her, slamming the locker door. He winces as she glares at the vents at the top of her locker.

She has a razor and a bad idea, and South is about to have a bucket load of regrets.

+x+

When she walks into the main area the next morning, Agent North Dakota is the only one there. Good. There’s rebellion and then there’s stupidity, and Constance isn’t quite ready to cross that line.

North is in the middle of a thick book, so when she first sits down across from him he doesn’t seem to notice anything different. Then he does a double take. Then a triple take. His eyes suddenly attach themselves to her; he gapes at her until she juts out her chin and shoots him a questioning look. He quickly directs his eyes back towards the page, forehead slightly pink against his blonde roots. Once every half minute or so he’ll glance up, only to look down and mutter something under his breath a moment later.

“Hey, asshole,” Agent South Dakota calls from the next room, voice still throaty from sleep. “I made your goddamn coffee. Come over here and get it.”

So that’s who Constance heard clanging around in the kitchen. North Dakota hesitates, glances at Constance one last time, and finally calls, “I really, _really_ think you should come in here instead.”

Huh. Confidence-inspiring. “Are you fucking kidding me?” South groans, but she makes it in anyway; her hair flops forlornly over her eye as she trudges in, two cups in her hand. “You better appreciate it, you piece of – “ She stops short when she catches sight of Constance, nearly dropping the cups as she stares, blinking rapidly.

Constance’s leggings slide together as she stands, stretching slightly, her torn shirt riding up – and she can feel two pairs of eyes on the skin that’s exposed. _Good_. It’s their one day off for the next three weeks, so she’d allowed herself to dress up a little today – or, rather, to dress down, to match the new hairstyle. The point: she looks hot, and she knows she looks hot, and she knows that South knows she looks hot. Which, really, how much more can she ask for?

“Hello, Agent South Dakota,” she greets calmly, striding over. North stares dumbly. She’s already forgotten he exists. She gestures to the shaved half of her head and the flip of her bangs. “I cut my hair.”

South swallows, eyeing her up and down. Constance feels her face warm pleasantly at the attention. “I saw,” South says, impossibly more hoarse now than it had been just a moment ago.

Constance’s smile turns feral. “Am I still _cute_ , South?”

South blanks. “Um – “

“Because I don’t _feel_ cute. Actually, I feel a little angry.” She blinks innocently. “Maybe because some Cyclops bitch decided to fuck with me yesterday.”

“Wait – “ South manages, brain a whole step and a half behind her mouth.

“Word of advice, Dakota,” Constance interrupts, eyes blazing now, because this is what the upper hand feels like and she’s a big fan. “Don’t call me cute. Don’t call me short.”

She leans forward, and she knows she got the lipstick right when South’s eyes track the movement of her mouth. “And _don’t call me CT_. I’m Constance. Connie, if you’re especially lazy, which I bet you are.”

With a light smile at the havoc she’s clearly wreaked judging by the wild look in South’s eyes, she brushes past the taller woman, bumping slightly into her elbow as she walks. “Oh, and by the way,” she adds, turning one last time to connect eyes with her. “Next time you cut your hair, dye it purple. Green just isn’t a good color on you.”

She strides out of the room like a hurricane. For a moment, the common area is totally silent. Then North lets out a low whistle.

“You are _so_ fucked.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is so shitty I should not be posting this.
> 
> #YOLO


End file.
